


Gag Reflex

by FrancesHouseman



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Casual Sex, Comfort Food, Drinking to Cope, First Time, M/M, Non-Consensual Oral Sex, Oral Fixation, Oral Sex, Rape/Non-con Elements, Rough Oral Sex, Self-Hatred, dark(ish)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-20
Updated: 2015-04-20
Packaged: 2018-03-25 00:50:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3790435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FrancesHouseman/pseuds/FrancesHouseman
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean had a gag reflex once. He remembers it, part fear and part physical response. It had been the trigger point when his body was pushed too far, driven to spasms of repulsion.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Nature of the Beast

**Author's Note:**

> CONTAINS NON-CON  
> Please be careful – squicks abound (see end for spoilery warnings)
> 
> Happiness of the bitter-sweet variety to be found in chapter 2

Dean had a gag reflex once. He remembers it, part fear and part physical response. It had been the trigger point when his body was pushed too far, driven to spasms of repulsion.

 

There's a man forcing his cock down Dean's throat. _No, not a man_ , Dean thinks, _A monster_. He and Sam have been on the hunt for shape shifters the past two days, and Sam had gotten a big old research boner for the Raven Lords of Lobberich. According to a dusty old tome, there were three Raven Lords, rather than the seven portrayed by the Brothers Grimm, and that's all Dean had bothered to learn before ditching Sam in the library and hitting up the nearest dive bar.

  
Unfortunately, the raven scum had been cruising the same bar and Dean has inadvertently become their next victim. He's not absolutely certain that these things are bona fide Raven Lords but they're definitely some variety of shifter because Dean brushed his silver ring against the shortest one and it shrieked like a banshee (he still wears his silver ring for special occasions, such as hunting shape shifters). There's also the evidence of the cock forcing its way down Dean's throat, that doesn't smell or taste even vaguely human. And there are three of them. And their eyes are _beady_.

 

Dean was obviously just too good looking to pass over in the bar. Either that, or it was slim pickings in the middle of the day. They don't seem to realise that they've picked up a hunter and Dean has no plans to enlighten them. He's actually hoping that the sexual assault part of the proceedings will drag out because the next bit is when he gets pecked to death and he's not seeing a way out of this on his own.

 

It's not the first time that Dean has been on his knees swallowing down the cock of a repulsive guy. Sadly, it's not the first time that Dean has been forced either. It's not even the first time he's blown a monster. It _is_ the first time that the monster has been a shifter but as first times go it's hardly a major landmark.

 

As monster cocks go, this one's pretty small. Then again, that would make sense, since the thing's true form is a little black bird ( _Big black bird Dean, the raven is the largest bird in the crow family_ ),and do birds even have cocks?

 

It's very tempting to bite down but the three Raven Lords have him captive, hands bound and nasty looking curved blades at the ready. If he bites the cock off of Raven Lord Number One then he has no doubt that Raven Lords Numbers Two and Three will immediately repay the amputation in kind and then immediately take it out on his ass. Dean would like to avoid moving the rape scenario from mouth to ass for as long as possible because Sam will be coming for him. He's making his mouth as loose and sloppy as he can, trying to delay the inevitable mouthful of bird-monster spunk. He just has to hold out until Sam can rescue him.

 

Dean does feel revulsion but it's a distant thing. The act is repulsive. The thing using his mouth is an abomination and it's violating his body, and the thought alone should be enough to make him vomit. He doesn't gag.

 

Sam is about ten seconds late. Bird Lord Number One blows its load, gross and sticky, and holds Dean's nose until he swallows. There aren't many monsters with poisonous spunk, so hopefully the only fallout will be the foul taste.

 

Sam's face is awesome. It floods with relief when he sees that Dean is alive, echoing Dean's own relief at being rescued relatively early into the assault. Shame follows quickly for Dean though, as Sam takes in what's happening: Dean's kneeling position and the thin drool at the corners of his swollen mouth. After that Sam is all cold fury and death.

 

They hug afterwards, or rather Sam hugs Dean. Dean's heart swells with love, pride and gratitude, and he forgets to feel awkward until he remembers the bits of dead monster squished between them. He's happy to have survived, as happy as he ever gets, to be back with Sam. The Raven Lords are bloody corpses and it's just another hunt that went a little sideways. Just a little more degradation for Dean's collection. He hopes that he's not contagious somehow; that he won't pull Sam down with him.

 

 

****

 

 

There are two types of people in this world: those who eat under stress and those that don't. Dean eats. He doesn't overeat, not much anyway, never mind what Sam says. He just gets on with it. He ate when he their father died, tasting nothing. He ate when he was dying, alternately tasting everything like he'd never get the chance again, and feeling like he was chewing on sand and cardboard because he was about to leave Sammy all alone in the world.

 

Sam hands him a menu and he dutifully runs his eyes down the lists, not really taking it in. His throat is raw from being pounded by bird cock and he can't get the aniseedy taste out of his mouth with coffee. Even the discreet swigs from his flask aren't helping any.

 

“Meat Lovers' Omelette,” he says, when their waiter asks for their order. “With a side of fries. Thanks.”

 

Dean had eaten when the Apocalypse was raining down upon them. He ate when Bobby died, threw it all up and ate again, until his stomach was full and cowed into submission. He ate when Sam was strung out on demon blood and all he could see was the lower half of Sam's face caked with gore.

 

“You okay?” Sam asks. Apparently it's therapy time.

 

“M'fine,” he replies, and it comes out a bit too gruff so he smirks and adds, “Take more than Woody Woodpecker's cousin to get the better of me Sammy.”

 

When Sam had finally seen fit to cure Dean of vampirism, the effects had lingered and all he had wanted to do was _drink,_ but he ate _._ He had even eaten when Sam was losing his mind, tormented by Lucifer and defenceless without the wall. Dean really hadn't wanted to eat that time, but by then he had been so good at eating in the face of misery that he went right on doing it anyway.

 

Therapy over, Sam talks, too brightly, about a possible herd of animal spirits in Nevada. Dean nods and eats. He sips his coffee and thinks of the bloodbath they left behind in the last state. Sam had been terrible and furious, blooded black feathers flying everywhere.

 

Dean thinks about the look on the face of his attacker when it had realised its mistake; the way its black eyes had twitched when it knew that it was about to die by Sam's blade. He files it away for safe keeping.

 

 

****

 

 

It's a long drive to Nevada and they make a start the same evening. Dean drinks from his flask while Sam drives, to loosen up a little and make the journey slide by. There's no mention of returning to the Bunker. Dean needs to hunt and Sam seems to know it.

 

Dean drinks and Sam talks about wild horses. Their conversation tapers off and they listen to The Eagles, which makes Dean want to drink more.

 

Dean drinks when he needs it, even when he doesn't want to. He has a love-hate relationship with whisky, using the temporary salvation of the bottle, trying to temper it and usually succeeding.

 

Sometimes he hates the the smell of it; that he's weak enough to need it. He hates the good burn and loathes the familiar warmth as it settles in his belly because it means false comfort.

 

He doesn't let himself drink enough to become insensible or fall asleep. If he sleeps now then he's more likely to wake up in the early hours of the morning, sweating and panicking, and he really doesn't want that. Maybe later, when Sam's sleeping, he'll drink some more. Maybe he'll cry when the alcohol breaks down his defences, before the pain of his thoughts has mellowed to numb, before everything has swirled away to leave him with sleep.

 

“We can probably make it to Cheyenne, get a room there?” Sam suggests, turning down the volume.

 

“Make it Laramie,” Dean says. There are more bars in Laramie, his kind of bars. Getting laid would be better than sobbing his heart out in the dark.

 

“Sure.” Sam nods but doesn't turn the music back up so Dean waits for it. “Go easy on the hooch, okay?”

 

“Yes _sir_ ,” Dean snipes, but after a respectable pause he screws the lid on the flask and tosses it into the back seat. He'll need to be semi-sober to hook up anyway.

 

Sometimes a faint trace of whisky on the air can make Dean hate himself more than he ever thought it humanly possible for one man to hate anything. Somehow he still manages to slug it back.

 

 

****

 

 

It's late when they get to Laramie, too late to get lucky on a week night but it's a Friday so Dean goes out anyway, ignoring Sam's stony disapproval and the poorly hidden rejection underneath.

 

Dean arrives at the bar with every intention of picking up a woman, vague ideas of soft skin and the comfort to be found in a gentle touch. Before he can make a move however, or even scope out the pickings properly, there's a guy all up in his personal space ordering him a drink. He's a big guy, bearded, rough around the edges, body language screaming _alpha male_. Dean wants to fight him.

 

There are probably consenting adults in the world who can have casual sex; consensual, safe, fun casual sex, and walk away from it unharmed. Dean thinks that's how it's supposed to go. That's how it goes in the movies: happy, hot, casual sex. It's never that way for Dean. However good the sex is, every one night stand chips away at his heart, leaves him a little colder, a little more alone.

 

Early on there had been more women than men, girls really. Sometimes, when their touch had felt like love, Dean had promised to return. Sometimes he had even believed that he would. Not every woman has been soft and tender, but they have all felt breakable in Dean's arms. Increasingly he feels guilty for receiving their tenderness, like a thief.

 

Then there are the men. Dean chooses the big ones, like this guy. He gives himself away with the conviction that he's worthless, and the relief of being used, of being _useful_ , is immense. With guys like this Dean doesn't have to be in control. This guy will use him roughly, maybe not as roughly as Dean feels he deserves, but all Dean will have to do is take it. And he fucking wants it.

 

Beardy guy wants his mouth and Dean's not surprised: most guys do. He is a little disappointed. Beardy's cock is gratifyingly fat and Dean goes to he knees once again. He stretches his lips around the very human flesh and thinks that he is back in his proper place. The thought is both bitter and arousing.

 

There can't be many men walking the streets who can honestly say that they've lost count of how many times they've killed. Dean has lost count. In Hell they said that murder scarred the soul, and that's as may be, but it's the casual sex that scars Dean's soul. Women and men, every encounter, however hot at the time, only serves to reinforce Dean's self hatred in the long run. Dean thinks there's probably a dark humour somewhere in there; that Alastair would have laughed but he can never grasp it. It's bleak and awful for Dean, ugly afterwards in the daylight. It always hurts.

 

Dean gets a quick hand-job in return, pinned back against the wet brick wall. He comes with his eyes screwed shut thinking of nothing at all.

 

Back in the room, Dean cleans his teeth as quietly as he can. He's so broken and ugly inside, and he thinks the cracks are starting to show on the outside too. His hands are scarred and rough. His face in the mirror looks haunted and lined. It's amazing that Sam can stand to look at him at all.

 

 

****

 

 

Dean wakes just after 4am and thinks about Sam because he can't help it, never can for long.

 

Back when Dean had first realised what he wanted from his brother his gag reflex had still been in peak condition. He had ignored the bad feelings, the want that crept up on him, until Sam was fourteen and touching himself in the same room when he thought Dean was asleep. Dean had lain there on red alert, no longer able to deny the lust that tore through him. He had learned how weak he really was and it made him sick with himself.

 

He rolls quietly to his side and watches Sam sleep. Sam would be warm and gentle and Dean itches to touch. He thinks he's never wanted anything so badly.

 

A small mercy has been allowed Dean: Sam has grown up. Dean couldn't have lived all these years with the guilt of lusting after a teenaged Sam. Lusting after Sam at all makes him sick and weak-minded, but at least Sam is now a great strapping beautiful man. Nobody lusting after Sam these days could be accused of poor taste. Dean is the only person in the world for whom lusting after Sam is strictly off limits, and surely it is Dean who lusts the most. It should be funny. It never is.

 

Sam shifts in his sleep, frowning, and rolls towards Dean. Dean closes his eyes, just in case, but Sam doesn't wake. He imagines Sam's soft breath against his face; imagines Sam's fingers on his twice-abused lips.

 

Some time later Dean manages to find sleep again.

 

He dreams that he is Wile E Coyote chasing Sam.


	2. The Number of the Beast

 

It takes a day to get to Spring Creek, and another to find the herd. They also find Morris Rivera, the witch who summoned it.

 

They try to reason with Morris. Sam would really prefer not to kill another human being, even a malicious witch, if they can help it. But Morris is protecting the location of a new gold mine and the gold-fever has its claws in him deep. He won't listen to either Winchester's method of persuasion and the encounter quickly deteriorates into a fight.

 

They manage to corner Morris the witch without getting cursed but then he's raising his hand, palm out towards Dean, and muttering a spell. The look on his face when Sam shoots him dead is less surprise and more victorious sneer, which makes no sense because all Sam heard him utter was the Latin incantation to _end_ an enchantment...

 

...and then it all becomes horribly clear in the thundering hooves of the phantom mustangs making a final stampede, home to their mountain pass, directly _through Dean_.

 

Sam backs away, horrified, but there's no time for Dean to escape. He meets Sam's eyes and he looks _serene_ , then he's bowled over, toppled like a ninepin to roll in the dust beneath a hundred hooves. Sam howls. He runs for his brother, already knowing that it's too late.

 

Sam cries in great shaky sobs. He needs to assess Dean, to check for a pulse, but all he can do is clutch at him with trembling hands. There are no obvious wounds but Dean lies still and pale in Sam's arms. “No,” Sam says. “No, no.” He rocks them both and runs his fingers through Dean's hair, over and over.

 

Dean opens his eyes. He looks surprised and then concerned, and when he begins to move Sam realises that Dean is going to try to comfort Sam, despite his obvious discomfort at their physical proximity. Sam knows that he probably looks cracked; can feel the crazy smile on his face but Dean is alive. He lets out a heaving laugh-sob of relief. Not only is Dean alive but he seems relatively unharmed. The ghost horses must have mostly moved _through_ him, thank all that is holy. Sam's beautiful brother, so full of self loathing. Sam needs to love him twice as much to make it balance out, enough for both of them. “Jesus Dean, you're so beautiful,” Sam tells him, and he's never meant anything so sincerely in his life.

 

Dean's face contorts. It looks suspiciously like pain before he gets his patented you're-one-crazy-son-of-a-bitch smirk in place. Sam doesn't have the patience for it. He gets both hands in Dean's hair and kisses his face.

 

Sam kisses Dean's cheeks, kisses his chin and along his eyebrows, insistent pushing little kisses that build into an addictive rhythm, and Dean isn't fighting him. It's a miracle. Sam laughs again. He kisses Dean's eyelids, peppers his temples, his ears, quite unable to stop. Every kiss means I love you, and Dean _still_ isn't pushing him away. He cups Dean's face firmly in his hands and kisses the ridges between his mouth and nose, along his top lip before settling on Dean's lips.

 

He can't keep still though, not yet. He has to keep pressing small kisses, firm, broken kisses, over and over onto Dean's perfect mouth. Dean makes a half moan of confused protest but doesn't try to get away.

 

Sam knows he's selfish, so greedy for taking this from Dean too. His beautiful strong brother, always giving, nothing ever too much for Sam to ask. Dean always has more to give.

 

Dean pushes up into Sam's kisses and then they're steady, kissing for real, like lovers. Dean takes over, opening to Sam and rescuing him all over again, like he rescued Sam from the burning room, and then from a second burning room, and then again because without Dean, Sam would have crashed and burnt out like a Roman candle after what had happened to Jess. It occurs to Sam that maybe Dean had needed rescuing too, when things had ended with Cassie. He's never thought about it until now. If so then Sam had utterly failed to be there for him.

 

Dean tastes wonderful, so familiar, which should be odd because they've definitely never done this before, but it feels right. They're rolling in the dirt together, grabbing at each other's collars, necks and faces, and kissing like it's Judgement Day. In a way it is.

 

Sam thinks about ordering Dean to make a life with Lisa and Ben, using his dying wish to make sure Dean kept his promise and then _taking Dean back._ Oh Sam's selfish alright. Dean is _his_. He kisses harder, deeper, and Dean moans.

 

Dean hauls them up so that they're standing chest to chest. He has Sam tightly by the collar with both fists, eyes bright and wild, nostrils flaring. He looks spooked and kind of delirious, and for all the world as thought he's about to punch Sam in the face, and then he goes to his knees.

 

“What-”

 

Sam can't believe it. Dean is going down on him. He's attacking Sam with a startling hunger and Sam lets it happen. It's mind blowing. Sam might die.

 

He makes a half hearted attempt to stop Dean when he remembers the bird monster, not wanting this to be bad for Dean, no matter how good it feels. Dean won't budge though. He swallows Sam down so hungrily, licking and slurping and sucking as though he might really _eat_ Sam, like Sam is delicious, and Sam's protestations die away. He is only human after all.

 

Dean is full of surprises: Sam's a big guy and his cock slides all the way to the back of Dean's throat. Nobody has ever deep-throated Sam before. He tries to stay focussed and not come immediately. He makes one final attempt to push Dean away because maybe Dean has gone crazy and decided to end it all by impaling himself on Sam's cock. Dean slaps his hands away, more violently than is necessary, and _growls_. The vibrations are more than Sam can stand. He comes and Dean swallows and he comes and comes and Dean takes it all.

 

Sam runs his fingers tenderly over Dean's face and through his hair. Dean won't let him go, wrapping his arms around Sam's thighs and stubbornly refusing to give up Sam's cock. His eyes are closed and his head rests against Sam's abdomen. Sam cradles it.

 

They stay that way until Sam's cock is soft, and then a little longer. When Dean finally pulls away it leaves Sam feeling cold and exposed, immediately missing Dean's mouth. Dean stands a little apart from him, looking thoroughly fucked. Sam thinks Dean might actually be reeling slightly, lips swollen and red like Sam has been dreaming about ever since the assault of the bird-man.

 

Sam pulls him back in. He may be selfish but he's never been a selfish lover and he's not about to start now. He cups a hand over Dean's crotch, where Dean's cock should be hard and ready but there is only softness.

 

He pushes Dean back, holds him there by the shoulders, a mortified sick feeling building in his throat because maybe Dean's not really into him at all, and then he notices the wetness on his fingertips and Dean blushes furiously.

 

Molten arousal floods through Sam again, his cock making a real and valiant attempt to get back in the game. Dean came in his pants like a kid and sweet Jesus, if that's not the hottest fucking thought to ever cross Sam's mind. It makes Sam feel better about shooting off in record time like a teenaged rocket too.

 

Dean's heart is the most sacred of gifts and Sam went and asked for it. He's going to work so hard to keep it safe. “We'll need to get another room. One with a king sized bed,” he says. “With _one_ king sized bed.”

 

Dean doesn't reply but Sam feels him shudder. He tries to keep an arm slung around Dean's shoulders as they make their way back to the car but Dean won't have it, keeps shoving him off and muttering that he isn't a girl.

 

Side by side in the Impala it's like they've slid sideways into a parallel world, a similar but massively improved world. Sam likes it.

 

“Dean?”

 

“Yeah?” Dean fiddles with a tape, a little awkward and trying not to be.

 

“You want steak?”

 

“Yeah.” Dean starts the car. Then he tilts his head slightly in thought and a smile, a genuine unguarded smile, blooms on his face. “Yeah Sam,” he says again, “I really do.”

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> **Spoilery Warnings:**
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> Dean is being mouth-raped by a shape shifter at the beginning. He has very low self esteem and goes on to drink in order to cope with the shame, and then has miserable lonely sex with a stranger, pining away for Sam and hating himself for it all the while. Things improve somewhat in chapter 2 - Sam to the rescue! - but there's more dubious oral sex :)


End file.
